


A Moment with You in a Half-Lit World

by Miaou Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Kissing, Love, M/M, Multi, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-26
Updated: 2011-09-26
Packaged: 2017-10-24 01:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/257503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Miaou%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is a man in Ikebukuro, both glamorous and gritty, by turns subtle and flamboyant, with flawless skin and a short cascade of midnight hair shot through with brilliant streaks of yankee sunshine. He often, though not always, hides his fathomless and glittering eyes behind a pair of cheap sunglasses he makes look expensive. His slender frame is complemented by impeccable fashion sense that mixes vintage with cutting edge, ahead-of-its-time trends. For all his flair, this man passes for ordinary when he wants to, though he will sometimes swagger-sashay through the streets as if he owns them.</p><p>The truth, of course, is that he doesn't own this town. The truth is, he <i>is</i> this town.</p><p>(Personified!Ikebukuro. Not a Hetalia fusion/crossover.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Moment with You in a Half-Lit World

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from lyrics to Portishead's "Mourning Air." Written for the [Durarara!! Kink Meme](http://drrrkink.livejournal.com), for this request: _Ikebukuro personified. Bonus points for meeting and/or having sex with the cast of Drrr!!_

There is a man in Ikebukuro, both glamorous and gritty, by turns subtle and flamboyant, with flawless skin and a short cascade of midnight hair shot through with brilliant streaks of yankee sunshine. He often, though not always, hides his fathomless and glittering eyes behind a pair of cheap sunglasses he makes look expensive. His slender frame is complemented by impeccable fashion sense that mixes vintage with cutting edge, ahead-of-its-time trends. For all his flair, this man passes for ordinary when he wants to, though he will sometimes swagger-sashay through the streets as if he owns them.

The truth, of course, is that he doesn't own this town.

The truth is, he _is_ this town.

When he wills it, the spirit of Ikebukuro can manifest himself in human form. Sometimes he roams his physical streets, as he's doing now. Other times, he enters the dreamscape in this form, to interact with his people in a manner impossible in the real world, revealing truth and legend to them at the same time.

He's not aware of courting other legends, but nonetheless they seem to be appearing within his borders with unusual frequency. A legend used to be once in a lifetime, or at least once in a great while, but there are no less than three in Ikebukuro now. He tried to visit the black rider when she first showed up, but the dreamscape lurched madly when he approached, denying him. He's entered the strong man's dreams a few times, but the man has paid him no heed each time and Ikebukuro has resigned himself to merely watching. The girl with the sword acknowledged him, and frightened him, though he didn't think she meant to. That had frightened him even more, so much that he'd told the information broker about her. He thought he'd feel better if someone knew, but he's only wound up feeling more uneasy.

Even though he passed on the information through the dreamscape, Ikebukuro is certain the information broker brought the knowledge into the waking world. The dreamscape is where Ikebukuro goes to talk with his people, but sometimes as he strides through the real world, he catches something from one of them, a spark vibing recognition. The information broker is the boldest of these: he will sometimes go so far as to salute or doff an imaginary cap when they pass each other. They've never spoken out in the real world, though; that kid is smart enough to let Ikebukuro come to him in his own time.

There's also the big Russian immigrant, who keeps his own counsel even in the dreamscape. And the once-blue van boy, who seems to accept Ikebukuro, in the dreamscape and in the world, without seeming to care. Ikebukuro keeps an eye on those two, liking them and wary of them at the same time.

There are two others he's been watching closely as well. One of them Ikebukuro has known for some time now. Known and loved. Known and loved and _loved_. He has been his golden boy's first everything in the dreamscape, from first kiss to first fuck. He has always known there was another in the golden boy's heart. He had to steal glimpses, because his darling golden boy didn't want to share.

Then one day, Ikebukuro saw the dark-haired boy of his beloved's secret heart, clear as day. Not in the dreamscape but on one of his streets, emerging from his train station. It was unmistakably him; the golden boy, overfull of bright laughter so it spilled into Ikebukuro's air, was with him.

He's watched them since that day. He would have watched the dark-haired boy anyhow but the compulsion is even greater with the golden boy there, too. They're drawn to each other, and Ikebukuro is drawn to them.

For all the time they spend together, they haven't fully found each other in the real world yet. Not the way they want to, the way Ikebukuro has seen in their dreams. A recurring dream for each one, almost a shared dream, both of them naked, flushed, slick with desire. Each time he comes across them like this in the dreamscape, the only way Ikebukuro knows who the dreamer is, is by which of them speaks: "I don't want to hurt you," the darker boy always says in his dreams; and in his own, the golden one says only, "Please."

The dreamer is too wrapped up in his dream to notice Ikebukuro at these times and, like whichever boy happens to be the dreamed phantom, Ikebukuro is ever wordless. It is without doubt an intrusion, but into such a gorgeous secret that Ikebukuro feels no remorse.

It's too early in the evening for the dreamscape yet, and besides it's a pleasant night for walking, so Ikebukuro does. There is the merest flicker in the big immigrant's eye as he offers Ikebukuro a flyer promising 30% off his order. Ikebukuro accepts the flyer without a word, without breaking stride. He cannot tell whether the man wants him to stop in for sushi or whether he continues holding out flyers because to do otherwise might draw attention. Someday Ikebukuro will go to Russia Sushi but today he is walking, and he folds the flyer in thirds, sliding it into his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping until he can put it in a protective mylar sleeve later tonight.

The strong man and the collector are also out walking, more or less as aimlessly as Ikebukuro himself. He follows them for a while on the opposite side of the street. Though he has never seen it in their dreams, much less in the waking world, the collector sometimes lets hints of his secret heart slip out in a stolen glance at the strong man. And though the strong man never gives indication of noticing, Ikebukuro can see the glow that shimmers before fading into his skin each time an intriguing little hint seeps in. Ikebukuro wonders how deeply those hints burrow and whether they are able to penetrate the strong man's own heart, which is occupied so exhaustively, though not absolutely, by his brother.

When they turn down a cross street, he means to follow them—but something tells him to keep walking down this street. So he does. When the same something maps out a route for him to Rikugien Park, he follows it. He listens when the something tells him which path to take, and when he sees the figures locked in an embrace beneath the smooth maple tree, when he recognizes them, Ikebukuro knows his best friend and some-time lover Serendipity has been whispering to him.

He's seen them like this before, not only in their dreams but out here, just like this. The first time he saw them kissing in the waking world, Ikebukuro experienced a strange sensation that he only later realized is what humans describe as their hearts leaping. He'd thrilled to the thought that they were moving towards each other the way he knew they wanted to—that they themselves finally knew it.

It may be that they do know it, and it may be that they are still moving towards each other, but they have not found each other just yet; they have not yet found themselves in one another.

The desire they are radiating is so powerful, Ikebukuro wonders that the other humans in the area have not sensed it, too. He moves closer, as close as he dares to get in their dreams.

And then closer still.

He leans against the tree and waits for the kiss to break. When they turn to him, the spark of recognition shines so brightly in the golden boy's eyes, it's unmistakable even in the dark. It's so bright it might be blinding him somewhat. "You—you're the man..." The golden boy trails off uncertainly, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

So Ikebukuro does it for him: "The man from your dreams." He smiles, leans in, hand extending for the first time in reality to his golden boy, finger already curled to nestle beneath his chin and tilt him up for a kiss—

The dark boy steps between them, arms out to shield the golden one. Standing behind Mikado, Masaomi puts his hand on Mikado's shoulder, moves it down onto his arm; one arm still outstretched, Mikado lowers the other as Masaomi's hand slides along it, or maybe Masaomi's hand slides along as Mikado lowers for him; either way, their fingers interlace when they find each other.

They're so fucking pretty like this, Ikebukuro takes a step back. He brings his hands up to frame them and clicks down his index finger, saving the picture to his memory.

Ikebukuro smiles as he lowers his hands. "I'm not going to take him away from you," he says.

"You did once before," Mikado points out reasonably.

Somehow, even without a spark or glimmer, Ikebukuro knew the dark boy recognized him for what and who he is. He is extraordinary, this one. Yes, Ikebukuro would have had to watch him even if he weren't so intertwined with the beloved golden boy. He smiles again. "But you're here now."

"I am."

Ikebukuro steps forward, the dark boy holds his ground, and their lips meet.

With a tilt of his head, Ikebukuro dovetails his lips with Mikado's. Then he parts a little more, giving Mikado the merest opening. And Mikado takes it; of course he does. He dips his tongue into the sliver of opportunity, flicks soft and wet, and then slides in deeper for a slippery exploration of Ikebukuro's mouth. The boy's hands have remained at his sides; Ikebukuro slits one eye open and sees Mikado's fingers still twined with Masaomi's. His lips curve up without breaking the kiss, then the curve splits open when he feels Mikado's other hand on his neck; taking the soft gasp as an invitation, Mikado pushes in more. When Ikebukuro pushes back, Mikado holds another moment before yielding, just long enough to let Ikebukuro know Mikado is letting Ikebukuro in because he wants to, not because of the push back.

As the kiss ends, Ikebukuro steps back for another look at them: Mikado is flushed, and Masaomi even more so. Masaomi's eyes stay on Ikebukuro as he drops his chin to Mikado's shoulder; so, too, Mikado's gaze as he rests his cheek against Masaomi's. So very pretty.

Ikebukuro hovers on the verge of a step, backward again to take another memory snapshot, or forward.

It would be madness to take that forward step.

Madness not to.

They don't move as he goes to them. Even though there's no one else around to hear, Ikebukuro keeps his voice low, confidential. "Come with me." He leans down, closer, his exhalations mingling with theirs; he fancies he draws in some of their ruined air when he inhales. "I can make your dreams come true," he promises.

Masaomi's lashes flutter as his eyes close. Mikado's remain open, fixed on Ikebukuro. Ikebukuro puts his lips to Masaomi's ear first. "I can show you how to make him want to answer your every 'please' with a yes,'" he murmurs.

Silent echo, Masaomi's lips shape the word _please_ as he turns to nuzzle Mikado's neck. Mikado shifts so they're facing one another, lifts Masaomi's face to his and kisses him. Ikebukuro gives their tongues time to entangle before he glides in to whisper to Mikado, "I can show you how to give him what he wants without hurting him."

Mikado's fingers flex and re-mold themselves to the curve of Masaomi's jaw. Ikebukuro says no more as they finish their kiss. He knows what they will say when they turn to him, and is only a little surprised that it's Masaomi and not Mikado who delivers the words: "All right, then. Let's go."

Ikebukuro smiles. They fall into step beside him as he starts off and he doesn't have to look to know they're holding hands again, but he glances anyhow, and smiles more.

Their fingers unlace as they hit the city streets again, though they continue to walk close together; closer to each other than to him, though they stay at his side. Ikebukuro is well on his way when he catches himself. When he started taking human form, he made rules for himself, to keep himself from running wild and falling victim to his own whims. He's broken some of those rules before and he's breaking one right now, but there's one rule he holds absolutely sacrosanct: he does not bring anyone to his human home. Not ever. He's pretty far gone to them, he knows—but not so far that he'll break this tonight.

So he turns the opposite way he would have at the next intersection and leads them to the nearest love hotel.

"Oh," Mikado says when they come to a stop outside it. Ikebukuro turns to him and sees Masaomi do the same. Expression unreadable, Mikado says, "It's kind of—"

"Sordid?" Ikebukuro suggests.

"—Mundane," Mikado says.

"Ah. Well, we can go somewhere else," Ikebukuro says.

Mikado thinks for a moment. "My place?" There's an audible question mark at the end of the sentence, but Ikebukuro knows a decision when he hears one. He wonders at this boy, who finds his own living space more exotic than the much-rumored but, surely for him, personally uncharted territory of a love hotel. Then he looks at Masaomi and sees how almost unbearably excited the golden boy is to be going to Mikado's place for _this_ , and Ikebukuro understands.

"Very good," Ikebukuro says, because it is.

Now Mikado leads them through the streets. Although they hadn't lingered long in the park, the shift of the constellations is noticeable to the trained eye. Stars are fine things and Ikebukuro gazes at them often, in human and other forms, but he loves equally the space between them. The darker the night gets, the more colorfully luminous the city itself glows, and as he strolls along in the company of the dark and golden boys, Ikebukuro finds himself basking.

As they pass a drug store, Mikado slows to a halt; they all do. Mikado looks up at Ikebukuro, considering him. "Is it possible for someone like you to carry a human disease?"

It's the first time anyone has ever used words to acknowledge what Ikebukuro really is, or at least to make a distinction between his form and his essence. That, more than the question itself, makes Ikebukuro smile. Then he processes the words and quirks the smile into a grin. Trust the dark boy to think of such a thing. "No."

Mikado nods thoughtfully. "Still," he says, glancing toward the propped-open door of the drug store. "It might be good to have. Other things." He fights a losing battle against his blush, but meets Ikebukuro's eyes steadily before shifting his gaze to Masaomi, who radiates a smile at him, apparently thinks better of taking Mikado's hand out here, and settles for a comfortable drape of his arm across Mikado's shoulders as the two of them go inside.

Ikebukuro lets them have this moment just for themselves. The building cradles him as he leans back against it, enjoying the tingling along his skin, anticipation of what's to come—and then, as a figure rounds the corner, he realizes the tingling wasn't anticipation at all but a warning he was too wrapped up in pretty to recognize.

The information broker hasn't seen him yet, and he may not. But he probably will.

Ikebukuro cloaks himself in the unremarkable as he leans back more, seeping into the building a little. He transmits the tingling at a frequency no human can detect, calling for some part of the town that is not embedded in the form he's taken to protect him.

Moments later a gaggle of teenage girls swarms out of the karaoke bar across the street, colliding with the information broker. Low notes of mockery and high strains of outrage scratch at each other, and as the girls form a semicircle around him, the information broker laughs and turns to face them.

Knowing the girls could not possibly have come at his call, Ikebukuro assumes sweet Serendipity has his back for the second time tonight. He glances through the drug store window and sees Mikado accepting his change and a small bag from the cashier.

He turns around as a man comes down the sidewalk. The man doesn't stop, but he turns his head to look straight at Ikebukuro as he passes. "Mother wants you to know she is pleased to be of use to you."

A shiver ripples up Ikebukuro's spine; the ground beneath him seems to tremble, but no buildings sway and he supposes he has only imagined the quake. He watches the man's back receding and wonders if humans can detect that red glow in the eyes. He knows of a certainty that girl doesn't mean to frighten him and now he thinks she may know that she does. She doesn't mean to, no, but still...

"What's going on over there?" Mikado asks when they come out. The incident across the street is escalating, but Ikebukuro feels in his bones that it will sputter out rather than flare to explosion. A shadow of recognition crosses Masaomi's face just before Mikado says the information broker's name.

"Come on," Ikebukuro says. They turn their faces up to his and he has an impulse to kiss them each, here and now, but that surely would draw unwanted attention and not just from the information broker. So Ikebukuro only offers them a smile, carved ivory framed by soft, smooth curves.

Masaomi catches the smile and reflects it back, Mikado takes the first step onward, and Ikebukuro doesn't look back as he goes; as they go.

With each step they take, the adrenaline in Ikebukuro's bloodstream transmutes from disquiet back to anticipation. It is unsettling to think that one human can affect him to such a degree and Ikebukuro knows that some day he must deal with the information broker. But this is not that day.

It's not far to Mikado's. They don't speak as they go, but Ikebukuro feels their barely restrained excitement pulse through him when his fingers brush against them, his touch stray and casual for now. His anticipation ratchets up: if this is what they feel like restrained, ah, when they allow themselves to become unbound...Ikebukuro smiles. This is so otherly than touching in the dreamscape: not better, not more intense, and not less in any way. He allows himself a keen moment of awareness of how transgressive his intentions are, and there is good cause for this to be taboo. But that only adds to the thrill infusing his blood, the marrow of his bones.

When they reach Mikado's room, Ikebukuro half-expects a clichéd fumbling of fingers trying to slot the key into the lock. But no, of course not: Ikebukuro's beloved golden boy could never give his heart over to one given to such a mundane cliché.

Mikado opens the door to his room, to the place where this is going to happen; and, last to enter, Ikebukuro closes it, not so much shutting them in as shutting the rest of the world out.

At the click of the lock, they turn to him. Uncounted fractions of a moment into the gaze, Ikebukuro realizes they're waiting for him to do something. What he would most like is for _them_ to do something: that is tonight's endgame. And so he says, the lilt of suggestion balancing the imperative form of his words so that they two of them may hear instruction or request or something in between, whatever they need to hear: "Kiss him."

He is looking at both and neither of them as he says it, and waits to see who will take the words for himself. Masaomi turns first, stepping to Mikado, head tilting, lips parting, eyes still open. His lashes flutter down when Mikado closes the remaining distance, touching his mouth to Masaomi's, letting it settle there so they're exchanging nothing but breath. Oh, but breathing is everything to ones such as them, human; as he watches them, Ikebukuro inhales slowly and deeply, filling himself with breath, because in this form he can.

Ikebukuro goes to them and, before they can part from one another, joins them in the kiss: sharing exquisite breaths with them; licking their breaths; licking them, the soft flesh of their lips, the slick warm interiors of their mouths. Masaomi's kiss is all open invitation and surrender; Mikado accepts and pushes back.

Giving the kiss over to them, Ikebukuro slips down. His fingers don't tremble as he undoes Masaomi's belt buckle, but he wouldn't have been surprised if they did. Slow and steady, he draws down the zipper, pausing for a moment of reverence as he frees Masaomi's cock without touching it.

He shifts that devotion from his gaze to his tongue as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the head of Masaomi's cock. When he feels a hand on his head, he looks up to meet Masaomi's eyes. "Let me keep my promise."

Masaomi licks his lips and nods wordlessly. Sliding Masaomi's trousers and briefs down, Ikebukuro exposes him to mid-thigh. Another moment of admiration; and then Ikebukuro kisses his cockhead again, licking up the indescribable slickness, neither salty nor sweet and yet both and so much more, that seeps from the slit he's tonguing with soft, quick strokes.

A soft gasp draws Ikebukuro's attention upward. He reaches up but doesn't touch his beloved's face yet. Fingers hovering at the entrance of Masaomi's mouth, Ikebukuro catches his gaze and says, "Make yourself nice and wet now, and then do me."

It's so suggestive, none of them misses the implication. Ikebukuro thinks Mikado might look away, but he's riveted on Masaomi—who blushes, but follows the instructions with easy obedience. His tongue darts out to moistens his lips, then makes another slick pass, slow and deliberate, pink tip tracing his upper lip, glossing his lower. He opens wider, tongue visible as it rests just inside. Ikebukuro touches it with his fingertips. Masaomi tilts forward just a little, just enough to draw Ikebukuro deeper inside, closing his lips around Ikebukuro's fingers as he begins to suckle.

"Good boy," Ikebukuro murmurs. "Just like that."

He closes his eyes, hand wrapped around the base of Masaomi's cock, mouth around his cockhead. As they suck one another, Masaomi begins to emit soft choking sounds, his inarticulate pleasure gagged by Ikebukuro's fingers. Much as Ikebukuro would delight in hearing those sounds in all their fullness, he is in love with the moist heat of Masaomi's mouth, the swirling and lapping of his tongue; he would not give this up for anything.

Or almost anything: feeling a finger not his own sliding against him in Masaomi's mouth, Ikebukuro looks up now to see Mikado has moved behind Masaomi, arm around his waist, his other hand cradling Masaomi's jaw as his finger moves with Ikebukuro's inside Masaomi.

Masaomi arches as he opens wider, licking at each of them in turn, both together. Face gorgeously flushed, his head falls back on Mikado's shoulder as his legs splay out, knees yielding. Mikado's arm tightens around him, taking his full weight. Ikebukuro slips out of Masaomi, relinquishing that beautiful mouth to Mikado. When he takes his own off Masaomi's cock, Masaomi squirms helplessly, his lashes flutter open, his gaze seeking Ikebukuro; then he lets his eyes fall shut again, a flash of his tongue as he licks Mikado's finger deeper into his mouth, his body falling more heavily against Mikado's.

Hands cupped 'round the back of Masaomi's knees, Ikebukuro looks up to catch Mikado's attention. He lifts a little, just enough to make Masaomi slip down more, held up only by Mikado's embrace. Mikado nods his understanding, then says softly, "The futon."

Ikebukuro unrolls it as Masaomi continues to nurse wantonly on Mikado's fingers. Once the futon is laid out, Ikebukuro supports Masaomi's knees as Mikado sinks down, bringing Masaomi with him. Mikado sits with Masaomi settled between his legs, supported against his chest. Ikebukuro starts stripping Masaomi's briefs and trouser all the way off, and Mikado follows his lead: Masaomi whimpers when Mikado withdraws his finger to get Masaomi's shirt off but makes no other protest.

When they have him naked, Masaomi reclines in Mikado's arms, hand curled around Mikado's wrist, blissfully sucking his fingers once more. Ikebukuro lowers himself to his belly between Masaomi's legs and goes down on him again, tongue swirling around his head, flicking across his slit, massaging the underside, devotion in every slick stroke. Masaomi's fingers burrow into his hair and Ikebukuro grins around the golden boy's cock, licks the vibration of his hums onto Masaomi's sensitized skin, feels those fingers tighten responsively. He angles himself to slide his gaze up Masaomi's body, up to his face, the absolute gorgeosity of that face as it shifts and shimmers with the same ecstasy that shivers and thrills through his arching body; that spills at last in thick spurts into Ikebukuro's mouth, sliding down swallowed into his belly.

Ikebukuro sits, his gaze drifting languorously up Masaomi's body, lingering on his face. He thinks he understands "afterglow" now, and smiles at knowledge acquired. Perhaps sensing the gaze, Masaomi opens his eyes; he smiles too, perhaps assuming Ikebukuro's is for him. And, truly, he is not wrong.

Smile tarrying on his lips, Ikebukuro gets to his feet and begins to remove his clothing. He shifts his gaze to Mikado, who is still holding Masaomi, stroking strands of dampened blond back from his face. "He'll do it for you, if you like."

Mikado blinks before saying, "I can do it myself." He shifts from beneath Masaomi, who lies back fully, cradled by the futon now. His eyes slit open, slight movement beneath his eyelids giving away his voyeuristic gaze as he gives his languid curiosity to one and then the other of them as they undress.

"Mikado," Ikebukuro says when they're all equally stripped to the skin, "why don't you fuck me now." Mikado looks at him but doesn't immediately answer. "You don't want to hurt Masaomi the first time, do you? You want it to be good for him, right?"

They look at each other, dark and golden. Ikebukuro can't read their gazes, but Mikado must know what Masaomi has said without words because he nods once, then turns to Ikebukuro: "All right."

Ikebukuro smiles. He finds the convenience store bag Mikado has left by the door and reaches in for the tube of lubricant, which he brings back to the futon. As much as he would like to touch Mikado's cock, Mikado's response to the undressing has told Ikebukuro what he needs to know and so, rather than reaching for Mikado with greased up fingertips, Ikebukuro squeezes out a dollop for himself and passes Mikado the tube. He lies back, legs apart and knees pulled up, watching them as he fingers himself slick. Masaomi is gazing between Ikebukuro's legs as if it is not a matter of whether or not that's what he wants; it is a compulsion. Mikado, though: Mikado's eyes are on Ikebukuro's face, ready to meet Ikebukuro's gaze when it lifts to him.

They stay locked as Ikebukuro withdraws his finger and spreads his legs wider, and Mikado comes to kneel between them. Now Mikado does let Ikebukuro reach for him, touch him, guiding Mikado's cockhead to his hole. Then instinct takes over and Mikado pushes inside, sinking in slowly, glancing down to look at himself disappearing inside Ikebukuro, and then back up into Ikebukuro's eyes. Once fully inside, Mikado holds still. "Yes," Ikebukuro murmurs, and feels himself expand and contract, fitting around Mikado's intrusion; inviting him deeper; welcoming him home.

As Mikado begins to move inside him, discovering and settling into a rhythm, Ikebukuro says, "Close your eyes, if you want. It's fine to pretend you're fucking Masaomi."

Mikado shakes his head. "I don't want to pretend anything. Because I want him to know that when I'm—when I'm fucking him, I'm truly with him." He turns, his gaze connecting with Masaomi's. "Him and only him."

A sigh, heavy with longing and contentment, slips out of Masaomi and drifts into the gaze, entangling with and thickening it.

Traces of the gaze shimmer in Mikado's eyes as he looks at Ikebukuro once more, deepening their connection through his focus, eyefucking Ikebukuro as thoroughly as he's fucking him with his cock. Beneath his skin, a heatwave rolls through Ikebukuro.

Sitting less than an arm's length away, Masaomi is breathing as if the air is too thick for simple inhaling, as if it must be sucked and swallowed. Behind closed eyelids, Ikebukuro considers having the golden one fuck him, too, right now: the thought of having the boss of the Dollars and the once and future boss of the Yellow Scarves inside him together, being taken by them at the same time, pushes Ikebukuro right up to the edge of orgasm—but it would be too much, too soon; someone might break, and it might not be one of them.

Head turned to the side, he opens his eyes on Masaomi. "Come here," he says, "and show me what you've learned."

Masaomi looks at him, then at Mikado; and then he's on his belly, and his mouth, soft and warm as a dream—softer, warmer, slicker than any dream—closes over Ikebukuro's cock. As another heatwave ripples through Ikebukuro, he arches, feeling the dark one slide deeper inside him as the golden one tries to swallow him whole.

It is glorious and if it is not perfect, the flaws only intensify the glory.

Except that the vibrations of sounds coming from Masaomi now as he chokes himself on Ikebukuro's cock are tainted and strained with something other than pleasure. "Ah, no." Ikebukuro threads his fingers through Masaomi's hair to tug him back gently. "Like I showed you, right?"

Masaomi meets his eyes, nods, goes down again. This time he concentrates on the head and just beneath it. Kissing and licking, he wraps his hand around the cock as he makes out with it.

Ikebukuro glances at Mikado, who is still deep-fucking him. For the first time this night, Mikado does not immediately return the gaze, and Ikebukuro realizes he can't take his eyes off Masaomi. Ikebukuro empathizes.

Ikebukuro's hand slips from the top of Masaomi's head to cradle his forehead, encouraging him to turn so his cheek rests on Ikebukuro's torso as he continues to suck; Masaomi's body follows Ikebukuro's coaxing touch, rolling from his belly onto his side. Ikebukuro feels it, the hot thrill pulsing on the tip of Masaomi's tongue and the tip of Mikado's cock, the moment their gazes connect and they begin to watch each other. Despite what Mikado said earlier, Ikebukuro can't help wondering if Mikado is imagining the heat wrapped around his cock is Masaomi's mouth, and if Masaomi is engaged in the complementing pretense.

Then Mikado reaches, touches the bulge of Masaomi's cheek, lightly stroking as Masaomi sucks.

It's so fucking pretty, Ikebukuro has to come.

He pulls Masaomi off just before he comes on his own stomach. He can't believe he came first. It makes him grin—yeah, he knew these two were special.

"Here." He reaches for Masaomi's cock, getting him to kneel up as Ikebukuro starts jerking him off. Masaomi inhales sharply, arching, pushing his hips forward on pure and yearning instinct as he starts making more of those soft choking sounds mixed with kittenish mewls.

Ikebukuro feels Mikado tense, start to spasm inside him, and switches his gaze back. Sensing it, Mikado drags his own gaze from Masaomi to meet it. "You, too." Ikebukuro coaxes Mikado out of him. He touches their cockheads to each other and they need no further encouragement, reaching for one another, stroking each other off as they kneel over Ikebukuro.

Their kissing is fast and sloppy, desperate: not how he taught them, but they're so into each other right now, it hardly matters. Masaomi is still whimpering and moaning, Mikado swallowing most of the sounds, though some are escaping with their shared, mingled exhales. Mikado must like those sounds as much as Ikebukuro does, because he moves down to kiss Masaomi's neck, latching onto his throat to free those lovely little sounds as Masaomi arches and comes. Masaomi goes slack, coated with the haze of satiated desire that Ikebukuro has seen so many times in dreams, light and slick as the sheen of sweat on his skin.

As Masaomi's loosened hand starts to slip from Mikado's cock, Ikebukuro reaches for Mikado, intending to help him—but Mikado closes his hand over Masaomi's and finishes himself off that way.

The boys sit back, glancing at each other and then away as if they suddenly seem to realize what they've done; and again as a second wave of realization hits, and they remember Ikebukuro. "That was very nice," Ikebukuro says, sitting up lazily, grin kept for himself, hidden. They both blush, prettily and sincerely; Ikebukuro could swear he sees a hint of smile when Mikado glances at Masaomi again.

This time when Ikebukuro gets to his feet, he begins to gather his clothing. He's shirtless, pulling on his fashionably-retro stone-washed ex-girlfriend jeans, when Mikado asks if doesn't want to clean up.

"Nah." Ikebukuro fingers drift through the drying slicks on his belly. "It's good for the skin." He watches their eyes widen as he rubs some of their commingled come on his face. He wonders if he's given them an idea. He hopes so.

He kisses each of them, chastely if lingeringly. Then he crosses the room and leaves by the window, ambling down the fire escape.

Half-way down, he can't help pausing; he looks up, feeling drawn by something brighter than the stars in the night sky.

He turns around and goes back up, quieter than he went down, making no sound at all. When he looks in on them again, he sees them lying together, still naked. They roll so Masaomi is straddling Mikado. They're talking in tones too hushed for Ikebukuro to catch their words with human ears; he doesn't try, because the soft, low laughter they exchange tells him enough.

Then Mikado pushes up and Masaomi leans down to meet him in a kiss—but Mikado eases back just before their lips meet. Masaomi follows him down, more soft laughter swallowed between them, made secret as they lie flush together, fastened in a kiss.

It's just as Ikebukuro suspected: worth his while to go back up for this glimpse, because he doesn't think either of them will make it to the dreamscape this night, and this is the prettiest sight yet, way too gorgeous to miss.

He thanks sweet Serendipity for her last suggestion and swings himself down the fire escape with a smile, dissipating into the night before his feet touch the sidewalk.


End file.
